When I was a late teenager,
I and my cronies
went to noble Bournemouth
to visit the clubs:
we gave ourselves fake IDs
saying that we lived in Highcliffe,
or Friar’s Cliff, or the like,
anywhere but Southampton.
It saved us a beating,
and worked a treat;
until our natural obnoxiousness
obtained our defeat.
After that, we drove down
to visit the parks,
paddle-boating on the lake,
such larks.
Now, older by far,
I fondly remember Bournemouth,
Dorset’s fair star.
Graeme Sandford 